


Cuddles and Coughs

by Norangutan



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norangutan/pseuds/Norangutan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann's sick and Newton's completely useless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuddles and Coughs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkysongMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkysongMA/gifts).



Hermann had a box of tissues next to him on the couch when Newt came home from the store. 

Newt stared at him. "You look awful," he said. "Are you sick?"

Hermann wiped his nose before answering, "Dothig. I just have a cold." He flinched away as Newt put a hand to his forehead. "I said, it's dothig! AAATCHOO!"

"Fever. Stuffy nose. Terrifying sneeze that wakes neighbors across the street. Yup, that's a cold." Newt grinned and avoided Hermann's next sneeze by darting into the kitchen. "I have just the cure for this," he called.

"Oh, doh," Hermann moaned. "Just because you foud a therbombeter and put it under mah tongue does dot bead you've cured be." 

"What was that?" said Newt from the stovetop.

"JUST BECAUSE YOU FOUD A THERBOBETER—" Hermann started, but Newt stepped into the living room with a kettle and cut him off. 

"I know, I know. I've learned from last time, okay? It's just that I don't get sick that often, and all I remembered my mom doing was giving me a thermometer and telling me I could stay home from school. And then I was fine. How was I supposed to know there aren't anti-viral thermometers? This is 2032 for Pete's sake. Why am I the only one thinking of these things?" He shrugged and turned back to the kitchen. "Do we have tea in this house?"

Hermann sighed, wondering if selective memories were a symptom of colds, and if they were how he could arrange to forget the last time Newt had tried to take care of him. "It's id the padtry. Bottob shelf. Hodey's id the cabidet." 

"Aha…" Newt straightened up. "And the honey?"

"ID THE CABIDET!" 

"Okay, okay. You don't have to shout." 

Hermann blew his nose to hide any swears he felt like mumbling under his breath, and went to find an emptier trash can to put his tissues. When he came back to the couch, with an extra blanket and some hand sanitizer, he burrowed into the cushions and wished for death. Hermann hated being sick.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the tea was going badly. "Oh, that's… That's a fire. That's a fire, what do I do with—HERMANN? HERMANN, WHERE DO I PUT THE FIRE?"

Hermann threw his blankets off and flew down the hall. Newt had somehow managed to set the teabag strings on fire and was holding the kettle full of lukewarm water in the air nervously. "Dewt—Id the sigk. Terd the wadder od add put it id the sigk." He sneezed into his sleeve. "Dext tibe, put the bags id AFTER you boil the wadder. Or at least keep the flabbable thiggs away frob the stovetop?" He stepped forward as Newt bowed his head and went out, shamefaced, and made his own tea. 

It was a nice thought, he had to admit. Newt had even managed to find the disgusting Throat Coat that nevertheless worked wonders for whenever he had a sore throat. As awful as he was at taking care of himself or anyone else, it was nice to know that Newton cared enough to try. When the need for caring arose, of course. If he had any actual practice in a kitchen, or any other domestic area for that matter, Newt might be more handy in situations like these. 

Hermann briefly considered the challenge of teaching Newt to cook and quickly dismissed it. The thing was, it wasn't as though Newt was careless in a lab. He could handle acids and toxic chemicals and wouldn't even break a sweat. But if you left him alone in a house with a bottle of bleach for three minutes, for some reason he wouldn't be able to keep it out of his eyes or his clothes or worse, the carpet… It was like his brain switched off as soon as he got home. Suddenly he was five years old again and he could barely do his own laundry. 

Then again, it wasn't as though Hermann was completely infallible, either. It had taken a while to get used to living in an actual house again. After all the time he had spent in boarding schools, dorm rooms, and Shatterdomes, being able to walk ten steps from the bedroom to the kitchen was absolute luxury. But it also meant that he wasn't being served his food, and sometimes he missed not having to worry about making dinner. 

But it was also true that whatever he cooked for two people was invariably better than the mass-produced rations he'd been so used to for most of his adult life. 

The kettle began to sing and he poured himself a mug, found a saucer and a spoon, and went back to the living room. It was empty.

"Dewt?" he called. "Dewtod, where are you?"

The front door opened and Newt stepped in, breathless. "Oh, hey. I just ran out to the corner store and got some soup." He waved a can. "It's easy. Just open it up, heat it and give it to you, right?"

Hermann smiled and nodded. "Right."

Newt disappeared into the kitchen while Hermann sat back on the couch and turned on the TV. It was unfortunate that the TV was turned up so loud, because if it wasn't, he probably would have heard Newton trying to turn on the microwave.

Hermann did notice when Newt started tugging on his blanket. 

"Hermann, look, look! I don't know what's going on, but it looks awesome!"

"Dewt?" said Herman, limping to the kitchen. "Dewt, you didn't…" His voice trailed off when he got to the microwave, which had sparks cracking and flashing off the can on the inside. "Dewton!"

"Sorry!" said Newt, wide-eyed. "Sorry, is it not supposed to… Is it not supposed to do that?"

"DO, Dewt. Do, it's dot." Hermann stopped the microwave and fanned the wisps of smoke away from the smoke detector. "Put it id a bowl first, okay? Don't put betal things in the bicrowave."

"Then how are you supposed to heat it up?" Newt asked.

"Bowls," Hermann repeated. "Cubb on." He left the kitchen and steered Newt into the living room. "Sit." 

Newt sat with his hands clasped in his lap. Hermann sat next to him, wrapped himself in a blanket with his feet tucked under him, and leaned his head on Newt's shoulder. Newt put his arm around Hermann's shoulders and leaned into the armrest. "You're going to get me sick, you know."

"Yeah? Well, you deed to leard how to cook," said Hermann. "Shut up and let me watch TV."


End file.
